A/N: Oh God, sorry, sorry, SORRY this is so late comign out! I swear I was going to update sooner, but I had an epiphany, and I spent a couple of days writing the ending. Yes, I know EXACTLY how this is going to end. -Rubs hands together- So, we find out what happened to cause Benjamin to be in that inn. I hope this chapter isn't too crappy, my muses decided to pack in half way through. -headdesk-

And THANK YOU for the reviews, everyone! I really didn't expect to get so much feedback on this fic. And I'm goign to go back and fix a few things in Chapter 1 to make the scene change clearer too, since a lot of peopel commented on that. I just realise dI forgot to put a line break in there, which is probably why it was confusing -facepalm-


Chapter 2 – What's Dead Is Dead

OoOoOoOoO

Outside, dawn was just beginning to skim over the darkened streets of London, making dark corners visible, and treating the two friends to a view of the sunrise. However, neither cared to watch it, both having issues of greater importance on their minds than the simple beauty of the sun rising. Susan's eyes darted everywhere, remembering all too well how bold the muggers and cutpurses were. Benjamin seemed to read her mind – he always had been good at that – and moved a tad closer to her. For an awkward moment, Susan wondered if he was going to put an arm around her, but thankfully he didn't, and she sighed inwardly in relief. It would be hard enough explaining everything to him – including why they could no longer correspond in any way – without him feeling that their friendship was just as strong as it had been ten years ago. So they simply walked back towards Fleet Street, which wasn't far away, and Susan wondered if she should ask the question burning on the tip of her tongue, or wait until they got back to the shop and hope Benjamin explained on his own. For the Benjamin Barker she – no, the Benjamin Barker Nellie knew – wouldn't have been in an inn drinking until dawn. Though perhaps it hadn't been all night, for his step was sure, and he didn't look drunk, nor could she smell the alcohol on him.

By the time all these thoughts had run through Susan's mind, they had arrived back at the shop, causing all curiosity to flee her mind for a moment, leaving a total blankness. She had seen the shop, of course when she'd gone by before searching for Benjamin in the inns, but the darkness had hidden a lot from her vision. Now, everything was mercilessly visible. The sign on the front of her pie shop was worn, practically unreadable, and weathered greatly by rain. The windows were thick with dirt, and from what she could see of the interior through them, dust covered everything thickly, the sight reminding Susan of a fresh snowfall.

It was a place that hadn't been entered for ten years.

Susan felt Benjamin squeeze her hand gently, but didn't try to pull away, her gaze now drifting to the barber shop above. It was in a similar state of decay, the sign also warped from weathering, and nigh unreadable, the paint peeling away, excepting what looked like a 'B'. Confusion enveloped Susan like a blanket, and she mutely turned to Benjamin, whose expression was both grave and melancholy.

"I haven't been inside for years." He remarked, and then a humourless smile played about his lips. "But then, neither has anyone else."

"Then where…?"

"I have a room above the inn." Benjamin explained. "I pay a low rent, help in the bar in the day, and then get a free drink or two at night."

Susan shook her head jerkily, her brain rejecting this new information, producing mages of Lucy, dear, innocent Lucy, she who shied away from rudeness like the plague, and shrieked like a siren should a mouse dare cross her path. And what of dear, sweet Johanna, a miniature of her dear mother? An inn was no place for a child – well, Susan reflected, she would be closer to fifteen by now, or was it sixteen? – and Lucy would not have allowed her daughter to grow up in a place where she might – Heaven forbid! – learn a curse. Beside her, Benjamin sighed, probably having picked up on her trail of thought.

"I…" he began, faltered, and then started again. "Come on, I believe I have a lot to explain."

"Damn right." Susan muttered, following her old friend into the meat pie shop. To her slight surprise, the door wasn't locked, but then again, who would want to break in?

Inside, the shop was a sorry sight. Dust covered everything thickly, and there was a melancholy feel to the air, as if even now en echo of that deed hung heavily in the air, darkening the mood of anyone who entered. Susan noted that everything was just as she'd left it – the cloth abandoned on the side, the window opened slightly to let in the summer breeze, the dishes stacked beside the sink. Beating down an odd nostalgia – Susan swore she would lie cold in her grave before she even considered regretting killing her husband – she sat down at the table she'd spent so many evenings at, either in silence with Albert, or talking animatedly with Benjamin. Speaking of her friend, he sat opposite her, a grim look on his face. By now, the redhead had gathered that whatever he was going to say next wouldn't be good – would, in fact, be something she honestly didn't want to hear, but curiosity held her tongue, and opened her ears.

Benjamin didn't meet her eyes. Instead, those beautiful chocolate brown orbs gazed past her, focusing on the door, as if ghosts of the past were walking through it, parading themselves in full view. Once the thought entered Susan's head, she had to stop herself turning round to make sure she wasn't correct. Instead, she simply sat in silence, waiting for Benjamin to finish his tale.

"They say this place is haunted." He said abruptly, an odd look in his eyes, misting them over. "That's why nobody came, afterwards. Nobody came upstairs to the barber shop, either. They said they didn't want to anger the ghosts."

"They must'a been jokin'." Susan snorted. "Albert was too lazy to be a bloomin' ghost."

"We lost business altogether after awhile." Benjamin continued, not heeding her words, lost in the painful past, his words disjointed and painful. "Lucy wanted to leave, find somewhere else where we could start over, but I told her we'd stay, try and keep going somehow. Besides, I thought you'd be back one day, and want to know where to find us all. But…"

"But?" Susan echoed, impatience overshadowing tactfulness.

"Lucy got sick, about eighteen months after you left. The influenza." Benjamin buried his head in his hands. Susan's mouth formed a small 'O' of understanding. Lucy had always been a frail little thing, who got battered down by even the slightest cold. If she'd gotten the influenza in the depths of winter…

"It took her six whole months to die." The barber's voice broke slightly. "Then she just slipped away in her sleep. We couldn't afford to buy her any medicine."

For a few moments, a tactful silence fell between the two friends, as Susan tried to bring herself to ask the question she needed an answer to more than any other. Finally, she gathered her courage and took the plunge.

"Benjamin, what 'appened to me boy?" Her voice faltered a little as she choked out the name. "Where's Thomas?"

"Gone."

The single word sent a wave of numbness crashing over Susan, washing away all feeling other than nagging, hopeless despair that encircled her heart, not letting her brain accept the possibility that her son was gone, that she would never see him grow up, court his first girl, get married…

Gone.

No, he couldn't be gone. It was a mistake, it had to be. Her beautiful boy—gone. It was inconceivable. In a moment, Benjamin would remember, would realise, would set her right and then they'd laugh at his stupidity…

It took a single glance at the barber's face to destroy this fragile fantasy. Her eyes asked him how.

"The… The 'flu. He had it too." Benjamin hesitated for the briefest moment. "I'm so sorry. There was nothing we could do."

"Dead." She choked on the word. It was so final, so irreversible. "Gone."

Susan had thought she could never be more broken than she already was, but apparently that was a delusion. She was shattered afresh into a thousand pieces. Ten years spent hoping that she might have a son to come home to. Ten years dreaming about what he might look like, whether he took after her or not, what his personality was like. Ten years of useless delusions.

Susan came back to her senses in time to feel a glass being pushed into her hands. Not even bothering to question the contents, she raised it to her lips and drank, a familiar warmth burning the back of her throat as she swallowed the gin. Blinking away the tears in her eyes, she made out a bottle on the table. Wordlessly, she took it and refilled the glass when it was empty, falling into an irregular routine. She filled the glass. She drank the gin. She refilled the glass. She drank the gin…


Benjamin watched the broken woman drinking, and wondered if he should stop her, but reasoned that if anyone had a reason to get drunk, it was her. To come back from ten years of exile to a place known as Hell on Earth, to find that your son was gone…

Gone.

Like Johanna. Johanna was gone. Gone… Gone… Gone…

Gone.

The Judge. Turpin. As if he hadn't done enough damage by transporting Nellie when she didn't deserve it – especially not a life sentence – he waited until Johanna had been left for just five minutes while Benjamin went to the market to buy what little food they could afford… and then pounced. The barber recalled fiercely how he'd been told that with so little money he was obviously not fit to take care of his own daughter.

Gone.

And now she was in the clutches of that tyrant, that vulture of the law. Locked up in that Goddamned house, and Turpin had done God only knew what to her. Benjamin's mind started to go down a path and he shied away from it violently. No… If his little lamb, his turtledove had been violated by that… that monster, then he would pay in blood. The image of Turpin in the barber chair, with a razor slitting his throat, bringing forth rubies of blood, was deeply satisfying to Benjamin. It was exactly what he deserved, to be killed and gutted like the animal he was.

Gone. She was gone. Gone forever.

The barber sighed, and glanced up, only to see that the redhead had managed to drink herself into unconsciousness whilst he had been lost in thoughts of revenge. A smile tugged half-heartedly at his lips at how innocent she looked asleep, small, barley audible snores emitting from her form every so often.

Gone. Johanna was gone. But she was here.

"What's dead is dead." Benjamin whispered to himself, reaching out a hand to stroke his friend's curls. "And what's alive is alive."

And so it was. Benjamin vowed to himself that, come what may, he would not lose her, lose his last lifeline. His dark angel. She might not be as he remembered, and he might not be as she remembered, but nothing could stop them trying. Especially something so trivial as a few words.

Gone. What's dead is dead.